


An Infinite Variety

by orphan_account



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Zombies, F/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Science Fiction, Selkies, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge on Infinite Earths, Outlander style</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jamie is a third-year Gryffindor and Claire is the head girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult one to write because I had another idea, wherein Claire was a witch and Jamie was a muggle (still set in the 1740s), but this tale won out. We'll see if anything ever comes of the other.

“You’re mad,” Ian said, in Gaelic, which caused some English girls sitting very near them to turn and look disapprovingly. Jamie ignored them. He was good at that by now.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

That was depressing. Jamie had hoped that, if anyone would support him in this, it would be his best (and only) friend, but he supposed that Ian couldn’t help but find it an impossible endeavour.

Across the Great Hall, Claire Beauchamp laughed at something Duncan said, and Jamie smiled reflexively in reply. It was beyond him now to deny that he was madly in love with her, and he had nothing left except to give it all he had and hope for a good outcome.

“She won’t say yes,” Ian predicted.

“You don’t know that.” _Though it does seem likely._

Ian knew nothing about women. He mooned over Jenny as if Jamie’s older sister, currently surrounded by friends down the table, was worth anything more than irritation. — Claire Beauchamp was something else entirely. Tall and fair with dark curls and hazel eyes, she looked like a goddess come to Hogwarts.

“I’ll tell you why: She’s four years older than you, the head girl, a Ravenclaw, English, and pure-blooded. You are the son of a half-blood bastard and the scandalous Ellen MacKenzie who eloped against the will of her family, and I think she’s going to laugh at you if not worse, and I only hope that you have the good sense to do it, if you must, out of sight of everybody else.”

Jamie flushed but ignored him.

* * *

Claire had quickly noticed when someone began to follow her. It began soon after her seventh year did, so at first she had thought it was something to do with being head girl. Then she had mentioned it to Geillis, who donned an expression so dark that Claire had to curse herself for her naivety again. At least she had Geilie looking out for her, and Claire knew nothing truly dangerous could get past Geillis Duncan.

Then, last week, Geillis had sat down next to her in Potions with a peculiar smile that said _I know just about everything and I’m not going to tell you until the last possible second, for my own amusement_. That ended her theorising on all the people who might want Claire dead — or, at least, her verbalisation of it —, and thereafter she only quoted love poetry at odd times and gave Claire indulgent looks.

Frank had been no help to her either. “Heavens and Earth, if Geillis can’t find your stalker, I don’t see how I can.” It was true. Frank was more often in the library than with Claire, though he was a prefect like she had been before her promotion, but he wasn’t looking at books on causing murder and mayhem like Geillis. No, dearest Mr Randall preferred his histories, and normally Claire, herself a historian's niece, admired that about him; but it was inconvenient now.

Claire Beauchamp needed other friends.

She was musing on this as she walked down the corridors on her rounds. There were other students, both in Ravenclaw and otherwise, but she might have befriended them before if they were worth it. No, it would be best to depend upon the wider world once she had graduated, and then she could find herself friends other than Geillis and Frank — not that she would abandon them.

The feeling of being watched struck her again, and her mouth twisted. Today was the day. She had enough of this, and if Geillis would only laugh at her, then she would handle it herself. _Hopefully dark magic isn’t going to be involved because she _really_ would need Geilie’s help if so._

She spun around suddenly and caught sight of her stalker.

The boy was too tall and redheaded to avoid her notice now that she had seen him, and his attempt to duck behind a suit of armour did nothing but irritate her. _That bloody bastard_ — Who could have set him upon her trail? She recognised him vaguely as a young Gryffindor, mainly because of his height and hair, and she thought that she had spoken to him last year at some point. Perhaps Slytherins had been bullying him and a friend of his, but her memory for point-taking and detention-assigning wasn’t exact. She did it a lot.

She didn’t think she had made an enemy of him, but there was only way to find out.

“You there!”

He froze.

“What are you about?” she demanded, coming up to him and grabbing him by the shoulder. He was about as tall as Frank was, if not taller, and she expected he would continue to grow. _Good thing we're witches and wizards, not muggles forced to depend upon our fists._ “You’ve been following me, haven’t you? This past month and more!”

He nodded silently, half in terror and half in — something else. She wasn’t sure.

“Why?”

The boy set his jaw and said, in a Scottish accent, “Will ye — Hogsmeade trip this weekend. For Samhain. It’ll be nice, in the village. You should go.”

“I was planning to,” Claire said, bewildered. Was this some sort of Scottish custom she had missed during her six years living in the Highlands? Had she simply not noticed the redheads chasing down girls to ask after their Samhain plans? _They do have dark-haired men go from house to house on Hogmanay._

He nodded shakily. “I’m going too.”

Claire smiled encouragingly. “I’m glad. Hogsmeade trips are always fun.”

“We could go together.”

 _Jesus H. Merlin Christ._ Claire had to glance at the window to keep from embarrassing the boy by laughing. _No wonder Geillis was smiling and quoting love poetry at me._ She had an admirer! Claire had never imagined that she could be an object of admiration to such a young boy, but it was charming. She couldn’t wait to talk it over with Geillis, once Geillis had finished gloating, and — Wait. How old was this boy?

“Thank you, er —”

He blushed to his ears. “Jamie. Jamie Fraser.”

It sounded familiar. “Yes. We met last year.”

Another nod.

Claire tried to remember if he or his friend had mentioned their age when she rescued them. She couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t strange that they hadn’t mentioned it.

He had to be a third year at least, to go on a Hogsmeade visit.

“Well, Jamie. Thank you for your invitation, but I already promised to spend the weekend with friends.”

“With Frank Randall?”

 _Has he investigated his rivals?_ She had to turn her head again. “Yes, and Geillis Duncan. — You and your friend are welcome to join us, if you’d like. John?”

“Ian.”

“Yes, of course. He has a Scottish name. — We should be at the Three Broomsticks 'round four o’clock, if you and your friend would like to join us for a butterbeer — or whatever else — there.” She wondered if his courage would hold, but he was a Gryffindor.

He looked at her carefully, and Claire thought, _He’ll be a handsome man in a few years’ time._ By then she would be long-forgotten and he would have a hundred girls his own age fighting over him; but now he said, quietly and with all due seriousness, “I’ll see you there.”


	2. Zombies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a zombie outbreak in Cranesmuir

“Is he dead?”

Claire shot him a look. “Yes. But now I think that he will stay dead.” Decapitating him with a claymore certainly seemed to keep him down, which had been their original problem.

No one had expected Arthur Duncan, of all people, to rise from the grave and begin attacking villagers. He didn’t seem interesting enough except in his choice of wife, but Geillis _was_ the source of this latest trouble. Claire gave a heavy sigh and wished that she could still believe the magic wasn’t real, but between Craigh na Dun and this — Well, Claire’s scepticism had taken a deadly wound.

Jamie glanced around. “It’s spreading. Half the village is like — like Duncan was.”

“Geillis said that she would curse us all.” Claire had only stared at the woman — one of her few friends in this time — as she floated above them and proclaimed that the dead would rise in Cranesmuir and show them agony. She hadn’t believed it at first, but then Geillis was gone and her dead husband had bitten his first victim. The first victim of many.

“So she did. I told you that she was a witch, did I not?”

Claire wiped at her forehead in vain. “Yes, and everyone thought that I was a witch for some time. Forgive me if some scepticism was necessary.”

“You’re forgiven.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “What does Colum think about this?”

“He thinks that we should abandon the village. That we should try and starve them out.”

“These beings don’t eat food.” _Only human flesh._ Claire shuddered and wondered why Frank had never thought to mention this as a factor in the ‘45. Or perhaps it was of no importance to Jacobite historians, and Clan MacKenzie — the village of Cranesmuir — was the only one affected.

That was simultaneously horrifying and heartening.

“Aye.” Jamie hesitated. Clan MacKenzie was his family, however estranged and traitorous, while Claire was only his wife of a few months’ standing. At last his new-found loyalty won out and he said, “Dougal is who I worry for. Pale as a sheet, and then he asked what was going to happen to the witch’s bairn now Geillis is fled and gone.”

Claire added up all the hints and clues she had gathered these past months. “The babe is his.”

Jamie was not surprised, but perhaps all surprise had died in him as it had in her. The dead walking again tended to do that. “Damned fool.”

“No one is going to deny that now." She glanced down at the body before looking away again, hastily. "At least no one thinks that I am a witch anymore.”

“No, they still believe it, but now they think you’re on their side.”

Well it was better to be a good witch than a bad witch, if she must be a witch, and Claire could hardly claim that there was no such thing anymore.

Something occurred to her, and she laughed.

_Ding-dong, the witch is dead. Which old witch? The wicked witch!_


	3. Medieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire is a Norman lady and Jamie is a Scottish laird, and their marriage is again arranged for them

"He is a perfectly good match for you, my dear Claire. There is some land and some money, and he himself is tall and handsome. You could do far worse for yourself."

The Queen of Scots knew that. _She_ , of all people, could sympathise with the difficulties of young women who could do nothing to change their circumstances. True, her father was the King of England, and her mother was a Corbet; but _she_ was a bastard. Yet, Sybilla of Normandy was married to a king while her lady-in-waiting — born into a solemnised marriage — was to marry a bonnet laird and go to the Highlands, and — It was really a complicated business altogether.

Really, if this kept up there would be _revolutionaries_ in a few generations' time.

Claire sighed and wished, not for the first time, that one of her brothers had lived. Then the English king, in his role as the Duke of Normandy, would not have taken her family's lands for his own and left her with only a small dowry. There had been no one to argue for her then, however, and now only Sybilla had care for her. And her future required marriage. Sybilla would not live forever, and if she died young, then Claire would have no position at the Scottish court.

"I expect it will be no worse than any other marriage is."

"That's the spirit!" Sybilla was beaming. "Alasdair is fond of him, you know, so there might be more money or property in time. — and he is a Fraser, and they tend to do well for themselves. And, oh! I just want you to be happy."

"I will do my best to please you."

* * *

The challenge was not unexpected, and after a year of marriage Claire knew better than to think that Jamie would turn his back to an enemy. Sir Jonathan Randall had insulted his sister, his wife, and his ward (though few knew of the last, for they would not wish to see young Fergus tied up in all this), and he would be soundly punished. To think otherwise would be impossible, though of course there were accidents — but Jamie Fraser was a foot taller than Sir Jonathan and equally stronger and braver.

Claire only wished that Jamie had waited until after the child was born to confront Randall. She disliked the thought of birthing an orphan.

Sybilla held Claire's hand as the men came out to fight, Fergus acting as Jamie's squire and looking ready to join the fight at the slightest provocation. _Children and their pride_ , Claire thought, and she was only glad that Jamie had stopped it before she could think worse of the situation.

"Do ye apologise, sir?" Jamie asked, but it was a formality. He would like as not run Randall through even if he did.

"No, sir."

The fight began. Claire gripped Sybilla's hand so tightly that the Queen grimaced in pain, but she said nothing. _Please live_ , Claire silently begged her husband. God only knew, should he die, who next she would marry, and she did not like her odds of finding happiness in marriage again.

"Stay calm, for the sake of the child," Sybilla whispered.

"I will try."

 _Should he die I must name our son for him, and if it is a daughter, I would name her in honour of some relation of his. Jenny perhaps, or his mother_. These were grim thoughts indeed, and Claire was glad when this train of thought ended abruptly, no less because of the cause for her distraction — for Sir Jonathan Randall was dead.

"Thank God," Sybilla muttered. She had not been fond of the English knight, though she had not sent him back to England in order to keep the peace with her family.

"Yes." Claire crossed herself before running off to find Jamie.

He was in his tent, and she curtseyed distractedly before embracing him. "Good work, sir," she said, and her husband smiled.

"I did my best, my lady." He placed a hand on the curve of her stomach. "Did you doubt me?"

"No, I had faith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sybilla of Normandy was the daughter of Henry I of England by Lady Sybilla Corbet, and she married Alexander I of Scotland (brother to her father's wife Edith Matilda). This would have taken place sometime between Sybilla's 1107 marriage and her 1122 death.


	4. Spies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire is in fact a spy — but for whom?

It wasn't until the Duke of Sandringham came to Castle Leoch again that Jamie realised his uncles were right. It wasn't the greatest feeling, but at least he had the comfort of knowing that they were wrong about Claire's master.

Sandringham was the same lecherous bastard he had been seven years ago, but Jamie kept his silence for the sake of Claire — aye, and Jenny too. A pardon would mean that he could take Claire to Lallybroch and resume his position as laird, and he'd do anything to make certain that his wife was properly cared for. He could also defend Jenny from her English lover if he could only go home, and he would do his best by her children too. (Hopefully his nephew wouldn't look too much like Randall. _That_ he couldn't bear.)

He only hoped that Sandringham would not actually demand his services, but who knew? He might, and Jamie — Well he might even agree. A far better man than _Randall._

It was shortly before the hunt when he came across them talking in Claire's surgery, in low, urgent voices, the door open only a crack. He didn't think Sandringham a seducer of married women — only young men —, but his curiosity was piqued. And he hoped that Claire wasn't causing trouble by making her claims known.

"Yes, Dougal is certainly," Claire said, so softly he had to strain to hear her. "He took Jamie Fraser with him when collecting the rents to show off his scars and secretly collect money for the cause. I also suspect that he is having an affair with a married woman in the village, Geillis Duncan by name, who is the fiscal procurer's wife. _She_ is a Jacobite too, and it is possible that she has used her husband's post to gather more money."

"But Colum is not?"

"He certainly is sympathetic, but committing himself to war is one thing he will not do without certainty. He is too wily."

The Duke hummed thoughtfully. "What of your husband? Of Clan Fraser?"

 _Enough._ Jamie opened the door wide, and the conspirators looked up, shocked. "Claire. We need to speak."

"Jamie —"

Sandringham looked as horrified as Claire, so he was probably far more so. _He does not have a glass face like his spy_ , but perhaps Claire had always been an able liar, faking her honesty as much as she had faked everything else; and he cursed her for making him love her when she had only come to Castle Leoch to learn their secrets for her master.

"Leave," he told the Duke coldly, and His Grace went.

Claire would not meet his eyes.

"You work for the English."

Her eyes flashed up. "No! — for Sandringham, only. I do not answer to anyone else."

"Who does he answer to?"

"Himself," she said, and under normal circumstances there would be humour in it. She still looked up at him with her hawk's eyes, and now he looked away to avoid their pleas.

"And Randall?"

"Jonathan Randall knows nothing of me, I swear it. He suspects me of spying for France."

"And why should I ever believe you again?" _Secrets and lies_. He had thought that he could handle the former, but now he understood how the two could be tied up into one another. Claire had never directly promised that she was not a spy — though she had told Colum and Dougal both as much —, but her actions and words had all implied it. Now he could not trust her at all. "Tell me the truth. Everything, now."

So she told him. She _was_ a widow from Oxfordshire, and her husband — a cousin of hers who shared his surname with her father — had been a solicitor under the patronage of the Duke of Sandringham. Frank Beauchamp's death and their childlessness left her with no family save that in France, and she did not have the money to pay for her transport. Sandringham had offered her the money for passage if she would travel through Scotland and inform him of the attitudes those she had met shared regarding the Stuarts and the Hanovers.

"And that is all?"

"It would have been, if I had not been robbed."

It was a far better story than he had imagined at first. There was one question remaining. "Which side does Sandringham favour?"

She shrugged. "How should I know?"

He made a thoughtful sound, the one she called _the Scotch hum_. "Ye dinnae report to him anymore. I will tell him so."

She opened her mouth and then closed it. "Very well."

The argument wasn't over, and he doubted it would end soon —, but this could work to his advantage. Sandringham could not afford to have the truth of the matter revealed to Colum and Dougal, or to anybody else, and he might be willing to get Jamie his pardon if it meant Jamie would keep his mouth shut.

He only wished Claire had not betrayed him so.


	5. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire is the school nurse and Jamie is the French teacher

“Nurse Beauchamp.”

Claire did not look up from her files. "Mr. Fraser. Has French class become so perilous that you need to seek out the school nurse?"

"You know why I'm here."

Now she looked up and noted that he had closed the door. He was paler than usual, and he had a determined set to his jaw. _**This** conversation_. She would not say that she had lived in dread of it because she had honestly hoped it would not happen. Unfortunately it appeared it would, and she had nothing to say.

At least her divorce was finalized now.

"Can't this wait? We're at work."

Of course they had been at work during all the major events of their relationship, if it could be considered _a relationship_. Their first kiss had taken place in the economics classroom after they helped Mr. MacKenzie calculate his students' incomes from the game, Jamie's confession had come right after Ms. Duncan's witch trial demonstration, and they had fucked for the first time in Jamie's own classroom only a few days later. Cranesmuir School was more romantic than it at first seemed. — if it could be considered _a romance_.

Claire still didn't know whether, if she could go back in time, she would ask Headmaster Wakefield not to hire James Fraser as the new French teacher. _Why couldn't it have been a middle-aged woman with four children?_ The question of the ages, she supposed.

"We need to talk."

She gave a humorless laugh. "That's what Frank said to me right before he told me that he knew I was cheating on him. Is this the part where you tell me you want a divorce?" It was so cliche too. Maybe that was what offended her about the whole sorry business. _Two men vying over me, and both resort to cliches at the first opportunity._

" _Claire_."

" _Jamie._ "

He sat down on the cot. "I don't want a divorce." There was a small smile there. "I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee some time. Or dinner. — We can see what we're like, what we want, now that both of us are free to do as we pleased."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Yes, then." She turned to look out the window and smiled at her reflection. _It won't be all bad_ , Gillian had said, and she was right.

Well Gillian Duncan _had_ just divorced her second husband, so she would know.


	6. Mythical Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire is a selkie

"Give me back my skin."

He glanced at the corner where she was half-hidden in the shadows. "No."

It was the same argument they had every day since he had stolen her skin — and her. She had yet to beg him, but he knew it would happen eventually, now that she had stopped threatening him. Instead she had tried to find it where he had hidden it in the wilderness, but she was too far from the sea and could not find her way easily. He had found her instead and taken her back to Lallybroch with him, where Jenny had tutted and scolded and Ian had shaken his head.

"I have a husband."

"Aye. Me."

Her cheeks flushed. "You know very well that I do not mean _you._ "

"You ken very well how the enchantment works, lass."

She had no reply to that. She probably hated herself for healing him that day, but she had done it all the same. Had nursed him to full health and had protected him from Dougal as well as his fellow outlaws. He could not live without her after that, so he had taken her for his own.

"Come here, lass."

She rose from the shadows and sat beside him, and _that_ was a change.

"May I kiss you?"

"If you must."

He took it as a yes. She had been frank enough in her previous refusals. After, he said, "You can make a home here, ye ken."

"That is precisely what I'm afraid of." Then she was gone in a swirl of skirts.


	7. Fairy Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire and Jamie are living out something like "Cupid and Psyche" and I butcher Celtic myths for my own sake.

_To find your husband again you must complete three tasks. First you must sort these herbs. Then you must gather wool from the Lallybroch sheep_. _Lastly you must go to the underworld to collect water from the rivers there._

It was (she fancied) just like her husband to get her into this situation. First Claire had been sacrificed to a monster who turned out to be a silly boy, half in love with her since he had seen her a few weeks prior, and then she had tried to catch a glimpse of him, only to spill candle wax onto his back and send him fleeing to his uncle.

The MacKenzie had not been pleased, and he had ordered his castle's witch to curse Claire. She would not see Jamie again until she had completed three tasks.

The herbs were easy enough. Mrs Fitzgibbons in the kitchens had helped in secret, and Claire was skilled in herb-craft besides.

The sheep were somewhat more challenging, but Claire had Jenny. Jenny was eager to see her brother happy even if it came at the expense of his marrying a sassenach of whom she knew little. Her sheep were called to order and sheered, and the task was complete.

But the underworld? That was impossible. — Unless the rumours of Craigh na Dun were correct.

"Are ye certain about this?" Jenny asked when they reached the stone circle.

"No. But do I have a choice?"

"No," her sister-in-law answered, and they embraced before Claire stepped forward and touched one of the screaming stones.

The underworld was different to what she imagined. Cold and stony instead of hot and, well, fiery. The way was clear, and Claire soon came across three women washing clothes in a stream. Claire cleared her throat.

"Why are you here?" one demanded.

"I want some water from the stream."

"Why?" asked another.

"To free my husband."

"A husband I had," said the last of them. "The same is true of my sisters. _We_ did not sacrifice so much to reunite with them — and neither did I."

"I cannot pretend to know your circumstances, but I will give you mine if you wish."

"We do not need them," said the first. "Take the water and go."

"I do not have a bucket."

The second arched a brow. "Do you not? Here is mine, and that is a favour you owe me."

" _Us_ ," corrected the third. "We will collect one day."

Claire shuddered but said, "Thank you."

She returned to Craigh na Dun after Jenny had left, but her sister-in-law had left behind Claire's horse. It was a day's ride to Castle Leoch, and Claire was exhausted by the end of it; yet, she did not stop for long.

As soon as she arrived she demanded an audience with the laird, and she laid out her winnings before him.

The MacKenzie scowled. "The tasks are complete. Jamie?"

Her husband stepped forward and out from the shadows. They kissed, of course. What else would young lovers, separated by forces beyond their control, do upon their reunion?

"You are more trouble than you're worth," she said in a low voice as the hall looked upon them with a variety of expressions.

Jamie smiled. "So are you."


	8. Futuristic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire arrives on the Space Station Inverness after eighteen years away

_Transport Craigh na Dun now docking in Bay 43._

It struck her now how similar this all was to the last time she had come here — in the same transport even, though this one was fortunately not commanded by Jack Randall. Then she had been a recently-divorced nurse hired by the space station's laird to bring the medical developments of the Space Station Oxford to his own.

Now she was married (still, on a technicality), the mother of a seventeen-year-old, and she was here on her own business. It had taken nearly twenty years for her to learn what had happened to her husband after she fled the Space Station Inverness mid-battle, and the gleanings she had gathered since did not tell her much about how he lived.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Roy & Co.," she said to a woman walking past with her children.

"Down the corridor and up two levels," the woman replied.

The space station had not changed overly much in the time intervening. It was a little shabbier after the war and the neglect from two decades in a poor economy, but Claire still recognized where she was going. The last time she had come this way had been when Prince Teàrlach had attempted to lead them into battle.  _And that ended so well._ _  
_

The office only had one worker in evidence, and he had his back to her. But she recognized him by his height and his hair and by something she hesitated to identify. 

"Hello, Jamie."

Her husband looked at her in awe.


	9. Aliens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire and Jamie are pretty much living out Saga, and I feel no shame 
> 
> (Also everyone should read Saga)

They had managed to escape two prison worlds, several bounty hunters, and just about every person who had cause to dislike their relationship — and many more who didn't. The Angles and the Scots had been at war for centuries, and it was considered unnatural for the two species to intermingle, let alone marry and have a child together.

Also they had met when a raiding party led by Jamie's uncle had overtaken a raiding party led by her intended Randall, and Jamie had been a guard of hers in the prison during the months in between that and their elopement. Claire didn't see why that should affect her marriage overmuch, however.

They settled down in the bedchambers of the ship found for them by Fergus, their ghostly babysitter, and Jamie said, "At least we have Faith."

Claire shook her head. "We're not naming our daughter Faith."

"Why?"

"It's _cheesy._ "

Jamie couldn't dispute that. "Alright, what do you want to call her then?"

"Brianna."

"For my father?"

"Yes."

He fell back against the pillows. "I like it."

"You would."


	10. Parody of Another Fandom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire and Jamie are jaeger pilots

The Sassenach Dirk shined, new and silver, and Jamie admired it even while he felt sick to his stomach. He wouldn't have a new jaeger if their battle with Foreigner hadn't gone so badly, and then Ian wouldn't have lost his leg.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" He turned around.

Dr. Beauchamp was one of the doctors who had helped invent drifting, but she hadn't drifted with anyone herself since her divorce. Everyone who had known her before said it was a shame because she had a good mind for it — welcoming but able to keep her distance. Personally Jamie found it amazing that anyone could keep their distance from _her_ , but he didn't make it his business to persecute divorcees who were in no mood for romance. The failed attempts of other pilots and ancillary staff had shown him that Dr. Beauchamp wanted to be single, and so he would keep away.

"That she is."

Dr. Beauchamp smiled. "Are you one of those men who insists that every machine is a woman?"

"Only the ones I'm half in love with."

"I see." She laughed. "Has the marshal found you a new copilot yet?"

"No, ma'am."

"Soon enough, no doubt. You and Ranger Murray were an excellent team."

It came out before Jamie could stop himself. "We could give it a go, doctor."

"What?"

"I just thought — Well, we could try and see if we're drift compatible."

Dr. Beauchamp seemed more surprised than anything. "If you'd like."

He nodded. "I can talk to Marshal MacKenzie about it."

Dr. Beauchamp's eyes narrowed. "Did Dougal put you up to this?"

"No, ma'am. It was my own idea."

"Alright. Talk to Dougal, and we'll give it a try."

Jamie grinned like a loon for the rest of the day.


	11. Slice of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire, a surgeon, and Jamie, who works at his uncle's publishing company, are flatmates in modern Inverness

Claire stumbled in at an ungodly hour of the morning, only to find Jamie awake and sitting on the sofa with his glasses on and his work spread out on the coffee table. _Translating_ , she thought with a shudder. She was fluent in French and decent at Latin and Greek (her uncle had made sure of that), but Jamie's talent for languages was next to divine. A quick glance at his work showed it to be German today.

"Philosophy?" she asked. She yawned and went to check the fridge for something to eat.

He shook his head. "A novel. It was a best-seller over there, so Uncle Colum thinks it might do decently well over here — or in the States."

"Huh." There was really nothing else to say. Claire had met Jamie's uncle — both his MacKenzie uncles and both his MacKenzie aunts, in fact, as well as a variety of Fraser relatives —, and she had long thought that Colum MacKenzie had the mind of an evil genius.

She had also long suspected that Uncle Colum and Aunt Letty were keeping secrets about little Hamish's conception, but it was none of her business.

"Huh," Jamie echoed with a smile.

He was really too handsome, the bastard.

"How was your shift?"

"Nobody died," she said.

"That's good."

Claire decided to flop down next to him on the sofa instead of going to her room. _Mistake!_ a part of her, which sounded a lot like Joe, sang.

Alright, so Jamie was attractive — _very_ attractive. He was tall and fit with red hair, and he was kind, intelligent, and funny. He had great parents and a lovely sister, and he had a solid job that wasn't likely to go away. (Nepotism meant that you couldn't fire your nephew without your older sister coming down on you like the hammer of Thor.) Claire had spent more than her allotting time thinking about him, and that time had increased after she had found out about Frank and approximately half of Inverness-shire.

_Next time, I only live with female flatmates._

Jamie glanced down at her. "Ellen has a show coming up. We should go."

"Your mum? Aye."

He grinned. "That's the spirit, Sassenach."

She yawned again. "Bed for me, I think." She really didn't want to go.

"S'good idea."

"Tell me more about the show when I'm awake."

"Will do. It's a date."

He probably meant nothing by it, but Claire, half way to her room, stopped and felt her entire face heat up.


	12. Deserted Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the English exile Jamie to a deserted island and the writer discovers that some of these are harder than others.

Jamie would say this for the English (not that anybody would hear him nowadays): They were getting more clever by the day. Stranding Scots on uninhabited islands with no way of getting word to their clans — Aye, that was surely the best way to keep them there and to make them suffer.

It gave him time to think, though he knew they wanted him to starve. He could manage for a few months at least until the snow and the cold came, and then he was as good as dead unless Ian and Jenny could find some way to find him and free him from his exile.

Mostly he thought of Claire and of the baby. In the future (Claire had told him once) most babies survived to adulthood unless they had medical problems. Disease and famine didn’t touch the British that badly, and there were medicines for the minor childhood ills and institutions to help when the parents couldn’t manage.

His child had survived — if he had gotten to the future safely.

It could be a girl, of course. He had told Claire to name their son after his father, but he hadn’t thought of a daughter. It didn’t occur to him, but the other child — Faith, the sisters had named her, but he would have chosen another name — had been a daughter. Maybe Jamie was one of those men who could only have girls, or Claire, one of those women.

Had seven years passed in the future too? His child would be six, or thereabouts, now. The age of reason. Brian or that nameless girl would be reading and writing, learning about medicine at their mother’s knee and learning about all else from their school. A proper English school.

He laughed. He loved his Sassenach, but a Fraser with an English accent? Ridiculous.

Perhaps Claire would move with the child to Scotland. Inverness preferably, or Edinburgh, where she could find work as a nurse and the child could grow up to be a proper Scot. He doubted that Frank Randall would allow it, but perhaps. Perhaps he’d prove himself unworthy and abandon Claire.

Then again, Jamie could hardly blame him for refusing to support a child not his own and a wife who was unfaithful. Whether he believed that Claire had time-travelled or not, it was an unfortunate circumstance.

 _Be_ _safe, Sassenach. You and the bairn._


	13. Buddy Cops/Detectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire, 23, arrests teenaged delinquent Jamie, 19

"Would you believe that it's all some misunderstanding?"

"No."

Most misunderstandings, in Claire's experience as a police officer,  did end in fisticuffs and 999 calls, but those weren't typically the police's misunderstandings. Usually they were between families on Christmas Day or rivals in pubs.

Well okay, fine, maybe she hadn't been a copper for long, but she  had heard stories.

"Why did you attack Jonathan Randall, Mr Fraser? — and I will remind you that we have the assault on video."

James Alexander Fraser rolled his eyes. He probably was wondering why they gave him to the rookie, but he couldn't know about what happened across town on the same night.  Claire could hardly believe that so many ceramic cows were stolen, and no one could imagine why.

"Made accusations about my sister, didn't he?"

It was fairly obvious, but Claire had to ask. "What kind of accusations?"

"About her sexual availability," Fraser said with a quirk to his eyebrow.

The file had said that he was a student at St Andrews, and it certainly seemed like that was true, his propensity to violence aside. "And you thought that was a good reason to beat him within an inch of his life?"

"Isn't that a leading question, ma'am?"

Claire swallowed a sigh. "Mr Fraser, assault is a serious crime."

"You'd have worse to contend with if  Jenny had heard what that arsehole said about her, so really you should be thanking me."

She ducked her head to hide a smile. "Somehow I don't think I will."

"Well think it over before you decide. I'd hate for you to regret your decision."


	14. Allegiance Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claire is a Jacobite and the writer realizes that these are getting shorter and shorter

It was all working perfectly until Jamie caught her red-handed. The letters to the exiled Jacobites, to Dougal MacKenzie, to the Duke of Sandringham —

Well it didn’t look great.

“And here Dougal claimed ye were a spy for the English,” Jamie said with every appearance of good-humour. She knew better. She had only known Jamie for a few months, but he was her husband. She knew his moods.

“He learned otherwise.”

“I dinna think that ye were so devious, Claire.”

She flushed. “It’s the best for Scotland.”

“For Scotland! Aye. That is what fools like Dougal tell themselves before they go to bed. The truth is that a Jacobite king will think as little of the Scots as the Germans do. The Stuarts were eager enough to leave for England once old Bess died, and the lot of them never came back. No, it is foolish to involve ourselves.”

“I am not your servant, Jamie.”

“No, but you are my wife. You carry my child. We will be unified in this.”

Claire bowed her head, but she watched out of the corner of her eye as he burned the letters. She could do something to change his mind surely — or to get her messages to her allies, at the least.

She had to do what she could for her country. For its rightful monarch.


	15. Sex Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jocasta Fraser comes across Charles Beauchamp, time traveller from the twentieth century, in the woods

There were two of them, only two daughters left when Ellen MacKenzie had borne her husband seven children before she died with the last, who had followed her within minutes. Willy had died a few months before their mother and her namesake daughter, and the family was in mourning for over a year with the three deaths hanging over them.

Naturally they were the target of every bastard in the area, but no one was too daring when they had MacKenzie uncles and a Fraser grandparent. (Honestly, neither side of the family had shown much interest in them after Jenny made it plain to them all that _she_ would be running Broch Tuarach.) The English had given them trouble, a handful of years back, but a young woman who was laird in her own right deserved respect, even from Sassenach bastards.

Jenny had married Ian Murray because she wanted him and he knew better than to argue, and Jo had gone to France to stay with their cousin Jared. _To give you some elegant manners,_ Jenny had said, but she lacked elegance as much as Jo did. Ian said it was because older brothers and sisters always wanted better for the younger, and Jo knew better than to fight about it. Truthfully, no one fought with Jenny except the very stupid.

So she had gone to Cousin Jared, and he had praised her French and criticised her table manners for seven years before he tossed up his hands and declared her impossible. That was because she refused to marry any of his whey-faced business rivals, and Jo had gladly conceded to his diagnosis after he threatened to send her back to Jenny. She missed her sister (not that she ever would tell Jenny), and she wanted to meet her nephew at long last.

Jo wrote a letter to her godfather Murtagh, telling him to meet her in Inverness when her ship came in, and she steeled herself for a long and unpleasant journey. Cousin Jared saw her off with a kiss and a hint of melancholy, and she grinned and said nothing. Let him keep his pride.

Murtagh practically carried her off the ship when they docked. “Ye’re a disgrace,” he muttered affectionately.

“Dinna say so to yer own goddaughter,” she mumbled back. She was fairly certain that there was something that said it was rude to tell your godchildren that they were disgraces.

He snorted.

Murtagh gave Jo a few days to recover at the inn before they saddled up their horses. That was the greatest relief to her. In France everyone was so concerned about propriety that it was impossible for Jo to ride as freely as she would like, but here, she could do as she liked for the most part. Most ladies couldn’t, but there were benefits to being Black Brian’s daughter and the Lady of Lallybroch’s sister.

Jocasta Fraser had always done as she wanted. She took after her mother in that way, and a thousand more.

“Be careful, lass,” Murtagh reminded her when she rode too far ahead of him and had to stop. “There are English patrols all through these woods, and I bet they’ll cause a pretty girl like ye a world of trouble and gladly too.”

“Ye think I’m pretty?” She fluttered her eyelashes like one of Jared’s mistresses, and he yanked on her braid. Gently.

“France ruined ye, my lass.”

“I doubt that. I’m just teasing.”

There was a rustle in the trees, and both turned their heads and prepared to flee. Instead of an English patrol, rape and murder on their minds, they instead found themselves staring at a young man. _Brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin._ A scholar or the like, Jo would bet, and she smiled in greeting. He had no weapons, only a strange suit.

“Who —?” English.

“Good question,” Murtagh growled. “I think ye’ll find that ye have to answer for more than me and my lass here. Who are ye, and why are ye wandering around the woods?”

The man flushed indignantly. “I am Charles Beauchamp. _Dr_ Charles Beauchamp, and I am lost, thank you. I became separated from my party some time ago, and I wish to return to Inverness.”

In Gaelic Murtagh asked, “Do ye believe him?”

Jo shrugged. “Look at him! He couldn’t lift a claymore at twice his strength. I daresay he’s harmless.” Handsome too, she thought, in an elegant way that she had rarely seen, despite what Frenchmen might claim about their own beauty. _Every nation thinks that they have the handsomest stock. If Dr Beauchamp were a member of their race, they might have some right to say so._

Jo blushed at her train of thought.


	16. Superheroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the White Witch's identity is sussed out, and that isn't a bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is taking so long! But I'm a fandom waverer, and my DC interest (pre-DCnU, naturally) just picked up while my Outlander love fell to the wayside slightly. This is the latest, and I was so eager to have it published that it really isn't edited. If you notice any big errors, please let me know.

The city of Cranesmuir had never been the greatest. In fact it had been crime-ridden since the very start, but it was home. Not "home, sweet home", but home nonetheless. And that was enough for most people nowadays when half the world seemed to have gone mad with heroes and villains, flying about and firing power blasts wherever. Normal people had to try and live their lives as best as they could.

Dr. Claire Beauchamp was one of those people. Or maybe she merely lived amongst them. She was fairly certain that, as the head doctor of the free clinic, deep within the East End, her life was much more dangerous than any of her patients’ (even the drug lords’ and prostitutes’); and yet, she was considered one of them. If her uncle had his way she would be safe in her own private practice, and she never would have seen anything worse than the occasional drunk-driving victim.

She couldn't do that, though. Not after what had happened to her parents. Claire knew that Cranesmuir needed someone who was willing to fight for it — for its people. If she had _her_ way, Julia and Henry would be the last victims of the city’s curse, but even she knew that was beyond her. Yet, she fought.

Uncle Lamb didn't know that she wasn't only sacrificing her potential by doctoring in the slums. No one but her knew about what else she did at night — except maybe her fellow physician Joe Abernathy, who looked at her _knowingly_ from time to time. Joe never said anything about it, though, and he never would.

He knew as well as she did that someone had to fight for Cranesmuir, and the White Witch would do so if no one else was willing. Simple as that.

She knew that it couldn't last forever. Someone would add two and two together and get four. She just didn't expect it to be Mayor MacKenzie's nephew.

Jamie Fraser. No one knew much about him except that he was tall and handsome and possibly trouble. Certainly most people believed him to be the father of his supposed cousin Hamish, but the mayor himself claimed that the boy was conceived due to a medical procedure that he preferred to keep quiet, thank you very much. (Not that it stopped the reporters like Gillian Duncan from speculating.) Claire figured that Hamish’s brother Dougal had donated sperm, but she wasn’t a gossip.

Claire knew that Jamie Fraser was trouble because handsome and charming men like him always were. She had thought that Frank was a good man for a while too, but eventually, Claire had come to her senses and realized that she had been hoodwinked by his good looks and elegance and wit. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Her problems had started the evening she and Joe had gone to the fundraiser, hosted by Mrs. MacKenzie, for the clinic. It was a yearly event, but this was the first time that Jamie Fraser had attended as his family’s representative. His father had died the year before, and his mother was sick and his sister, pregnant again.

(That was another article Ms. Duncan liked to write again and again. _Is Jenny Murray pregnant again? How many children will the Murrays have before they’re done, clogging up our healthcare system?_ Ms. Duncan did not understand how the healthcare system worked.)

Claire was not ignorant of the fact that she was attractive. You didn’t live for thirty-odd years in the world without realizing that you are on the higher end of human attractiveness. It just wasn’t done. — But she was far from the most attractive woman in the room, so why was Jamie Fraser paying her so much attention?

“You’re the most _interesting_ woman in the room,” Joe said generously when she asked him why this was, and he went off to find Gail Hendrickson again. Claire wished him luck with it, but by now Gail had made her intentions clear. He really didn’t need it.

Jamie found her again soon after Joe’s abandonment. “It’s an excellent party, isn’t it? And all for a good cause.”

“The money could have been better spent,” she said a trifle sharply.

He grinned. “Ah, but now everyone will have it in mind right before it comes time to do their tax returns. You’ll find yourself rolling in dough, come late winter.”

She took a sip of wine. “Hopefully.”

“Care to dance?”

“Sure.” She handed her empty glass to a passing waiter and joined the other dancers on the floor.

Fraser was half a beat off but managed well enough, especially compared to the other couples, half of whom were inebriated, and he was obviously thrilled to be there. “I’m shocked to see you drinking, honestly, doctor.”

“Doctors drink too. And I’m not working tonight.”

“Aren’t you?”

She raised an eyebrow, but he was inscrutable.

“We left the clinic in the hands of our very capable nurses. They can manage it for a single night, and if not, Joe isn’t drinking.”

“I wasn’t talking about the clinic.”

“I only have one job, Mr. Fraser.”

“Don’t you?”

His smile made her bristle now. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Fraser.”

“If you consider it a hobby instead, that’s alright too. But there’s no need to hide your extracurricular activities from _me_.”

Of course it occurred to her that he might be talking about her activities as the White Witch, but it was equally possible that he was speaking nonsense. “Excuse me,” she pulled away, “but I’m feeling light-headed. Too much wine. I think I’ll go find Dr. Abernathy.”

“He left with Ms. Hendrickson,” Fraser said cheerfully.

“Then I’ll get some air.”

“Let me help you. It’d be bad for business if Dr. Beauchamp fainted.”

“There’s no need,” and she slipped away.

A week later, there was no denying that he knew her secret identity. The flowers in the bouquet he sent her “to apologize for making her ill” were all white, and the attached note said (as pointedly as possible), _I hope you had a magical evening regardless. Yours, J.F._

Joe whistled sharply but didn’t add his two cents. She was very grateful.

What could she do? Fraser Enterprises owned half the city, and the MacKenzies ruled the rest like pre-industrial lords. There was no chance that his claims would be simply dismissed if he decided to go public, and there was every chance that he would be believed. (Gillian Duncan would be ecstatic.) Claire had too many enemies to allow that to happen.

Which brought her to the present.

Claire would have to go to Fraser and talk with their CEO about the importance of secrets, especially for non-powered vigilantes who everyone thought were witches. She really didn’t have magical powers, and it would be unfortunate if she were attacked when unprepared. _Especially_ if she were attacked at the clinic.

The company’s headquarters were much more modest than she had thought, and so was Fraser’s office. He was at his desk working when she was shown inside, and with his tie undone and his suit jacket off, he was just as handsome as he had been at the party.

_Stand firm, Beauchamp. There’s no way you can do this over again._

“We need to talk about the bouquet you sent me, Mr. Fraser.”

“Didn’t you like it, Dr. Beauchamp?”

“It was very nice, but I meant the _implication_ of it.”

“I had been told that white camellias meant _perfect loveliness_.”

She scowled. He grinned.

“I thought a secret deserved another in return.” He sketched out a symbol in the air, and Claire froze.

_The Caledonian?_

The height — the hair — _Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!_ She was an idiot.

She laughed with relief. “You look different in candlelight.”

“Better or worse?”

“Oh I couldn’t say,” she demurred.

“Perhaps we could test it out in several different lighting situations,” he suggested.

Claire had been nursing a crush on the Caledonian for a while, to be _perfectly_ honest, so she said, “We could start with a restaurant’s lighting. Say, at seven o'clock tomorrow?”

“Sounds good to me.”


End file.
